Heather Graham Read Online Free PDF Page A

surgery with Marcel, Doctor, so you may not have heard that we suspect that Marcel was wounded while he was murdering a hooker.”
    “I’d gotten wind from one of the nurses that there’d been a prostitute murdered in the same vicinity. And I’m not blind to the fact that the hospital is crawling with cops now.”
    “We really could have used a few minutes with him,” Mark said.
    The doctor sighed. “Look, I know you boys have a rough time trying to do your jobs, but you’ve got to understand mine. I’m sworn to save lives. There are already a bunch of uniforms in the hallway, watching your man. Trust me—he isn’t going to get up and walk away tonight to avoid questioning.”
    “What is his condition?” Mark asked.
    “He was stabbed several times, but no irreparable damage was done to any vital organ. The loss of blood was tremendous.”
    “She must have fought him fiercely,” Jimmy murmured.
    “Someone fought him fiercely,” the doctor commented.
    Jimmy made an impatient sound. “Doctor, Jon Marcel dripped blood from the alley to the front door of that apartment! Sir—”
    “The doctor’s right,” Mark said, his tone slightly dry. “This is America. A man is innocent until proven guilty.”
    “Right. Even if he’s caught with a smoking gun and a dead man at his feet.”
    The doctor smiled wryly. “It must feel pretty rotten for you guys at times, but think back. Men—and women—have been executed in the past for crimes they didn’t commit. You can’t dig up a corpse and say, ‘Hey, we’re sorry!’ Sometimes the legal system sucks, but in a way, it works better than can be expected with society what it is, huh?”
    “Doctor, you’re right,” Mark said. “It’s just been a tough night, a long night. And we risk our lives to apprehend criminals who walk—and then head right back into the street to wreak havoc. Anyway, the D.A.’s office probably will put out an arrest warrant for Marcel; I believe we’ve sufficient evidence to hand him over to the district attorney. Rest assured, Marcel will get a fair trial. If he lives—since it seems his fate is up to God at the moment—his future will be decided by a jury of his peers.”
    “She’s back,” Jimmy muttered suddenly.
    Mark’s gaze instantly followed the direction in which Jimmy stared.
    “She?” the doctor queried blankly.
    Mark indicated Ann Marcel, who had now returned to the waiting room. She had sunk into a chair beside the rookie policewoman whose job it was to keep her calm and mollified until the detectives had their chance to talk to her. Ann Marcel still seemed to have it together. The young policewoman looked like frazzled hell.
    “Oh, my God!” the doctor said indignantly. “You don’t think that—”
    “No, Doctor, we don’t think that the wife had anything to do with this,” Mark assured him.
    “Oh, thank God! She’s an incredible woman,” the doctor said. “But you just never know these days. I’ve heard of husbands who shot their wives over changing the damned channel on the television. And vice versa, of course. You just never do know. Maybe the Brits have got it right. The Brits say we’ve caused a lot of our own problems, with our ‘right to bear arms.’ They may have a good point. The London bobbies don’t carry firearms, except in special cases.”
    Mark and Jimmy exchanged a glance. Nice thought. Mark knew he sure as hell didn’t want to be sent out into the streets of New Orleans unarmed.
    “Well, sir,” Jimmy said to the doctor, “Jon Marcel was stabbed. No gun involved. At the moment, it appears that he slit the throat of a prostitute in a dark alley and that she had her own weapon and fought back.”
    “How far from the wife’s place?” the doctor asked.
    “Three blocks,” Mark said. “You know the French Quarter. Tight spaces. Good streets right next to shady lanes.”
    “Amazing,” the doctor murmured. “He bled all the way into her arms.”
    “Is there anything you can